An Appraisal in Limbo
by Thornapple
Summary: Tom Marvolo Riddle died with the blood of thousands of people on his hands. In Limbo, someone was waiting to receive him...


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

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><p>It was in the form of a stunted, ugly baby that Tom Marvolo Riddle was found, stuffed under a seat and gasping in breaths as though his life depended on it.<p>

He _was_ dead. His lifelong ambition of being invincible was shredded to bits now, gone from the moment he had stepped into a cottage in Godric's Hollow. In his deranged mind, he fully understood the situation he was in.

And hated it.

So he raged. He fumed. How dared Potter, how dared Dumbledore, how dared all of them... how dare they take away what was rightfully his, how dare they question his power? And how dare Potter defeat him?

Then a mild voice spoke up. "You'll never get anywhere if you continue in this self-destructive spiral, you know."

Pale hands carefully picked the baby out of its uncomfortable spot and placed it on a chair. He paused in his mental ranting to try to assess the thing which had plucked him out of his misery and dumped him unceremoniously on a hard seat.

It was a tall woman with extremely pale skin and dark eyes, wearing long black robes. She surveyed him impassively, then sat on the chair beside him.

The woman pulled out a red velvet pouch and emptied a small hourglass onto her outstretched palm. Flipping it over, she watched the sand trickle down slowly, then placed it on its side, stopping the flow.

She looked back at the baby, but it wasn't there. In its place sat a skinny, pale-faced boy of thirteen, wearing Hogwarts robes and staring at her suspiciously.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The woman ignored his question. Staring at him, her face expressionless, she said, "It'll be less complicated to communicate if you're in this form."

Riddle had no idea what to make of that. "Who are you, woman, and where am I?" he snapped, not bothering with manners.

Her gaze grew more intense. "Who I am does not matter to you," she said quietly. "And you should be able to guess where you are."

Riddle leapt to his feet and felt a rage so intense grow in him that he longed to curse her… then remembered his wand wasn't on him. "Answer my questions!"

An amused smile flickered on the woman's lips. "Such rudeness… arrogance too – but that's the reason why you're here."

He gritted his teeth. "And why am I here? What is this place?"

"You will find out in due time," the woman replied coolly. "But first, please sit down."

Riddle glared at her, but complied.

"Now, do listen carefully," the woman said, "I wanted to handle your case personally… it's one of the most, ah, _devastating_ in recent times. Not to you, of course, no – but to countless others."

He said nothing in reply, but continued to glare at her.

"Because of your words, your actions, your _ideologies_," the woman murmured, her eyes glinting at the word, "You condemned numerous people. You destroyed lives, hopes, dreams… and not to mention you tore apart a staggering number of families."

Riddle fought to keep his cool. This woman was _accusing_ him of things he knew he'd done. And there was no point in turning on the charm; she could probably see right through it.

"But of course, I am not supposed to be prejudiced," she continued. "And that's why you're here. To receive a fair appraisal."

"And what, I'll go straight to hell?" he demanded. No point in keeping up his façade. "It's bad enough that I'm dead, isn't it? There is nothing worse than death."

"Oh, I'm certain there are worse things," the woman said indifferently. "You lot are just so fixated on your own little mind-sets that it's impossible to change them."

"Now then," she said, withdrawing an ornate mirror from within her robes. "If you would be so kind as to look into the mirror and tell me what you see. And there's no point smashing it; it won't break unless I want it to."

He shot her a scornful look and took the mirror gingerly. Peering into it, he saw nothing but his own face staring back at him.

Then it changed.

_Fire, blue and intense… Flashes of green… tortured cries for help… uncontrollable sobbing…_

Tom Riddle did not flinch as horrific scenes from his past took place right before his eyes.

_Long, white fingers withdrew a wand of yew… the triumphant, snakelike face looming out of the darkness… countless pleas for mercy…_

There was not so much as a twitch on his face.

_Then the scene changed to Harry Potter's face… "Try for a little remorse," he said, "Be a man… it's your last chance…"_

"Indeed," the woman said softly, "Your last hope."

Seeing Harry Potter's face made Tom Riddle's face contort with rage and grip the handle of the mirror so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Why are you showing me this?" he hissed. His face did not belong to a thirteen year old. It was not the face of a human being.

It was the face of a monster.

The enormity and impact of his failures hit him hard in the face once again. It was too much, he thought, too much to handle. To be reminded of his failure to cheat… to cheat…

"You cannot cheat me," the woman said calmly. "Only one has managed to do so, and even he came to me eventually."

"He did? How?" Riddle asked immediately, a hint of greed apparent in his voice.

"You never did read the book," she replied coolly.

"What book?"

"A book written by Beedle the Bard."

"Oh, that book," he said scornfully. "I do not care for children's books. They are worthless."

"And there," she said softly, "You are wrong."

She flipped the hourglass again. When she stopped, Tom Riddle was sixteen, but no less outraged.

"Listen to me, Riddle," she said coldly, her face possessing no more expression than a mask, "You have committed heinous crimes on a scale never before seen in Britain, or the world, for that matter. Unpleasant treatment awaits you, if you do not cooperate. As a matter of fact, the only reason why you are still here is because Harry Potter decided to give you a chance."

"Do not speak that brat's name!" Riddle spat.

"And therein lies your arrogance," she said, her lip curling. "What about those who did not speak yours?"

"They feared _me_!" Riddle snarled, and his face was transformed, inhumane. "They feared me and my power, they feared my superiority and my skill! They were merely weak, inferior beings, unworthy of speaking my name, unfit to live."

"And you are inferior to Harry Potter, since you refuse to speak his name?" the woman inquired.

That stopped him short.

"That's right," she murmured. "Your head is even bigger than I thought. You would be cast away immediately if Harry Potter had not decided to suggest you try for… remorse. You are being given your very last chance for redemption, Riddle, so consider carefully."

Riddle's face whitened, and his eyes flashed dangerously. "You have no right to tell me what to do."

"Now you're sounding like a brat," the woman said, a hint of a smirk on her lips. "It's amusing, really. You lot have such funny reactions."

"You are a devil," he said, "And a liar."

"Whatever you say," she said smoothly, an amused smile on her face. "So do you take your chance? You'll need to be genuine about it, though."

"How?"

"Do exactly as Potter told you. Try for remorse."

"Never," he snarled.

The woman merely stared impassively at him.

"I shall never feel remorse," Riddle said, "And I will never believe in the old fool's nonsense about love. He was a coward, not daring to go as far as I have, not wanting to extend his powers as I did. I will not be weak, like him, like Potter, _never_."

"And what about the people who died?"

"They were of inferior birth," Riddle snarled. "Unworthy of living, with filthy blood in their veins. They deserved to be eradicated."

"You really think so?" the woman asked.

"Filth and muck."

"Very well," she said, and her voice was different, slightly lower in tone. "The choice is made. And I'd like my mirror back."

It glowed white hot in Riddle's hands, making him flinch, before zooming towards her outstretched palm.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," she said, standing up and looking at him coldly. "You have rejected your option for redemption. You leave me with no choice but to send you away."

He surveyed her relatively calmly compared to his raging rant a few moments ago.

"You will be in solitary confinement, with no one to help you, no one to save you, no one to show you mercy. Your life's defeats will be played out before your eyes. And… more."

Her eyes were as dead as ever, her face pale as she lifted the mirror to Riddle's eye level for the last time.

This time, Riddle's eyes widened when he saw what was within. The blood drained from his face, and he started to shake, his countenance betraying terror. An unwilling tear trickled down his cheek.

"You will endure this forever," the woman said quietly. "And there will be no option of turning back. Everyone tried to warn you, Riddle, but you have dug your own hole deep."

Riddle did not reply. He was staring into the mirror, his once impassive face now twisted with inhuman pain.

In his mind, the woman's words echoed repeatedly. _No turning back, _she said. _Your life's defeats will be played out before your eyes. Try for remorse._

_Remorse..._

_Remorse…_

_Remorse…_

NO!

The mirror shattered and all went black.

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><p><strong>AN: I was just wondering what would happen to Voldemort when he died... Hmm. Please review :)  
><strong>


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